Dead Useful
by LuminaCarina
Summary: AU – How the Hufflepuff Golden Boy and the Moaning Nuisance saved the day.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

 **Words:** 1866

 **Summary:** AU – How the Hufflepuff Golden Boy and the Moaning Nuisance saved the day.

 **AN:** Cedric/Myrtle has kind of become one of my OTPs.

#

There is something distinctly unsettling about being spied upon. Cedric feels it like an itch under his fingernails, and isn't it awful that someone is spying on him while he's _bathing_? He's well aware of his own beauty, but still. That has to be the lowest of the low.

He mutinously wraps himself up in the towel like a sausage. ''Where are you? Come out!''

The only response he gets is the dripping of water from his hair. He feels stupid for a moment, but then he steels himself. He's a Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuffs don't give up. ''I'm going to sit here,'' he announces. ''And I won't move an inch until you show yourself.''

There's a beat of utter stillness, and then there's a slurping sound, this weird noise that echoes uncomfortably in the bathroom. ''Behind you,'' a very female says.

Cedric just about jumps out of his skin. Because: it's a ghost. And it's a girl. It's the ghost of a dorky-looking girl, who stares at the exposed parts of his chest with unabashed interest that's making him feel like a piece of meat. Internally he vows never to ogle anybody like that ever again – the feeling is not a nice one.

''Who are you?'' he demands.

The ghost doesn't take her eyes off him. ''Myrtle,'' she croons. ''My name's Myrtle, but _you_ can call me _whatever_ you want, hot-stuff.''

 _What_.

Cedric blinks once, twice, and then again for good measure. ''Why were –'' _No_ , that's not a good question! Switch gear, _switch gear_! ''Was there something you needed?'' When in doubt, turn to manners.

''Not really,'' the ghost says. ''There's not much to do around here. And you're so _handsome_! I just couldn't help myself.''

Well. That's flattering. Cedric isn't sure what to say. Is there a protocol for something like this? There must be, but Merlin help him if he knows it. ''Um, you're very handsome yourself?'' he tries, and winces. Girls aren't handsome – they're beautiful.

But ghost-girl looks at him like she's seeing him for the first time. ''That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me,'' and her voice is screechy in that pitch only girls can reach.

Cedric frowns, still careful not to reveal too much of himself. ''Then you can't have been hanging out with nice people.'' Because girls should be complimented regardless of their looks; his ma taught him that!

Ghost-girl smiles. ''Maybe I can hang out with you then.''

#

She won't leave him alone. It's starting to drive him crazy: wherever he is, ghost-girl's there, too. In the wake of a cancelled Quidditch match he's antsy and upset, and ghost-girl isn't helping things _at all_. ''Look, can you please leave me alone?'' Immediately, Cedric feels awful. That was a cruel way to say it.

Ghost-girl has betrayal in her eyes. ''But you said I'm handsome,'' she insists. ''Or... Were you _lying_ to me?''

Well, yes. He was. Because ghost-girl _isn't_ pretty. But he can't exactly come out and say it. ''Look,'' he tries to explain. ''You can't keep following me. I have a life, and you – you don't. So, maybe you should… I don't know – find some ghost friends instead?''

''But _you're_ my friend,'' she says like he's the stupid one. ''Why would I find someone else? I don't want to replace you.''

 _I want to be replaced_ , he wishes he could say. ''But, look. I'm not very good company. I can't even play Quidditch anymore, which is pretty much all I'm good at, and –''

''Why can't you play Quidditch?'' Ghost-girl interrupts curiously.

Cedric feels like banging his head on the wall. Is it possible for someone – even a ghost – to be this oblivious? ''Because the Heir of Slytherin is going around, petrifying people, so it's too dangerous.''

Ghost-girl tilts her head. ''Oh, is that happening again?''

 _What_.

Disregarding ghost-girl's uncanny ability to make his brain crash, just – what? Again?

''Well, yes, that's how I died,'' ghost-girl says.

Oh, he must've said that aloud. He clears his throat: ''The Heir of Slytherin killed you?'' He does his best to hide his scepticism.

Ghost-girl doesn't notice any sarcasm. Indeed, she grows excited, nodding along. ''Well, I'm not _sure_. I just remember these big eyes in front of me, and then I was floating away. But the Hair of Slytherin was attacking the school, so I suppose it was him.''

''So you know who he is?'' Cedric questions. How old is this Heir, exactly?

Ghost-girl giggles and bats her eyes at him. ''Of course not, silly! I just remember a pair of gold-yellow eyes.''

But Cedric is ecstatic. If they can figure out who the Heir is, Quidditch is back on! So he puts his most charming smile on: ''Will you help me find out who it is?''

''Of _course_!'' ghost-girl sing-songs, off in la-la-land, daydreaming about mentally-scarring things Cedric wants nothing to do with.

#

Ghost-girl – Myrtle, he must start calling her Myrtle – isn't nearly as helpful as he had expected her to be. All she knows is that the Heir has gold-yellow eyes and nothing more than that. She spends most of their time researching being a nuisance and giggling to herself.

''If we're alone in the library after dark, does that count as a date?'' Myrtle muses to herself, tapping a finger on her chin and hanging upside down.

Cedric doesn't even worry about her feelings anymore. '' _No_ ,'' he says decisively, leafing through a book with more pages than there are days in a millennia. ''Are you _sure_ that you saw golden eyes?'' he asks again.

''I know how I died.'' She sounds offended, but really she's just faking it for sympathy.

''But that doesn't make _sense_!'' he explodes. Madam Pince shoots him a dirty look, but because there's a silencing spell she doesn't have a leg to stand on. ''Nobody has eyes like that, no human or demihuman – it's impossible!''

Myrtle shrugs carelessly, still preoccupied with her thoughts of dates. ''Maybe it wasn't a human, then.''

'' _That's_ –'' Cedric opens and closes his mouth a couple times, and then lowers his finger in dumb-founded enlightenment. ''That's… brilliant.''

''Why thank you!'' she coos, vaulting over in glee.

He leafs through a discarded notebook, single-mindedly checking over his notes, indifferent to her acrobatics. He should look into improving his handwriting, it looks like chicken-scratch. ''If it's an animal, then – it has to be!''

Myrtle floats over to read over his shoulder. ''Hmm, did you figure it out?''

''I did,'' he can't quite believe it himself. ''It's a basilisk, it _has_ to be. It all fits. The yellow eyes, your instant death, the various petrifications – they must not have looked directly into its eyes, but in a reflection or something. Wasn't there a puddle when Mrs Norris was petrified?''

''But wouldn't it be really big by now?'' Myrtle wonders.

He pauses for a moment, and then shakes his head. ''It doesn't matter. We have to tell someone, like a professor. They can figure out how it gets around the castle. We can't solve _everything_ for them, after all.''

Myrtle hmm-s, squinting her eyes in thought. It makes her look like a mole, all blind and stuff. ''If we're crime-solving together now, does that mean that we're _dating_?''

'' _No_ ,'' Cedric answers immediately. ''Come one, we have to find Professor Sprout.''

#

They don't find Professor Sprout. Instead, they find the Deputy Headmistress. Professor McGonagall stares blankly at them for a moment, and then she invites them into her office. Cedric's leg is tapping an impatient beat; he needs Quidditch to happen again, badly.

''A _basilisk_ , Mr Diggory?'' She looks like she has a migraine. ''And you're sure about this?''

Cedric shoots a look at Myrtle when she goes to say something. ''Yes,'' he says firmly. ''It all fits. The eyes Myrtle saw when she died, and wasn't Old Man Slytherin a parselmouth?''

''Salazar Slytherin is one of the founders of this school and you will speak of him with respect,'' Professor McGonagall says robotically. ''And yes, he was. How did you – _wait_ , I don't want to know. When did you figure this out, Mr Diggory?''

''Just now,'' he answers promptly. And then his mouth runs away from him and he blurts out: ''Does this mean Quidditch matches are back on?''

McGonagall stares at him with x-ray eyes, glasses glinting ominously. ''You researched _all this_ just because you wanted Quidditch matches to start happening again, didn't you, Mr Diggory?''

What is there to do but nod in agreement? He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. '' _Haha_ , Professor, I don't think –''

''Never mind, Mr Diggory,'' McGonagall sighs. ''You're free to go. I'll be passing this on to the Headmaster. And… Ms Warren?''

Myrtle startles out of her thoughts and peers at McGonagall's stern face. '' _Yeees_?'' Myrtle's defence mechanism is to be as annoying and childish as possible. Even though Cedric knows this, it still drives him up the wall.

The professor's lips quirk up in a smile. ''Thank you for your aid in this endeavour, Ms Warren. You're free to go.''

Both Cedric and Myrtle waffle a bit in front of her desk, unsure if they were being taken seriously. McGonagall raises an eyebrow. ''Well? Something else?'' They hem and haw, and McGonagall purses her lips. ''Off with you, then!''

Outside of McGonagall's office, Myrtle does a backflip. ''She said I _helped_! Did you hear that, Cedric? Huh, did you?''

''I heard it, Myrtle,'' he says. Ghost-girl just sounds so happy about being acknowledged. And then he realises: McGonagall never answered him about Quidditch.

Myrtle mumbles something under her breath, playing with her fingers, and then she brightens up again. ''Hey, Cedric? Does this mean that –''

'' _No_ ,'' he says empathically.

#

''So I hear you've been peeking on Harry while he was in the bath.''

Ghost-girl's cheeks go a darker grey, a sure sign that she's blushing. ''He's very handsome,'' she defends herself. ''But you know I wouldn't _do_ anything, Cedric!''

He laughs. ''I know! I know!'' he assures her. ''But Harry doesn't. You might want to apologise.''

Myrtle huffs and puffs and promises that _she will, definitely, believe it, Cedric_! Cedric makes a mental note to apologise to Harry for her.

''Hey, Cedric?''

He adjusts the strap of his bag. ''What is it, Myrtle?''

Ghost-girl stays silent for a moment, glasses sliding down her nose and generally making Cedric sad she isn't corporal, because he would really like to push them up again. She picks at the hem of her sleeve. ''I'm glad you didn't put your name in to be the Hogwarts Champion.''

He grins at her so widely that his cheeks hurt. ''But then I wouldn't have _any_ time to hang out with you, eh?'' he teases.

Myrtle brightens up. ''Yeah!'' she cheers. ''Now come on, I've got to show you something cool I found!''

''Coming, coming!'' He ambles along after her, amused despite himself. Ghost-girl can be so childish at times.

Theirs is a strange relationship, one that no one but them really understands. But they're stupid and in love, and _doesn't love transcend death_? Well. Even though they can never kiss or touch or hold hands, they're happy enough.

#

 **Unedited; un-beta'd.**

 **Prompts:** event: a Quidditch Match, action: writing, colour: golden yellow, genre: Hurt/Comfort, action: bathing


End file.
